


in the night i'm wild eyed, and you got me now

by imadetheline



Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, FebuWhump2021, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, but we need some fluff now and then, not as angsty as it should be for febuwhump lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: febuwhump day six - insomnia
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140389
Comments: 30
Kudos: 138
Collections: Luke and Vader Bonding, febuwhump 2021





	in the night i'm wild eyed, and you got me now

**Author's Note:**

> title from wild roses by of monsters and men

Luke’s distress is evident in the Force, the waves of fear and pain roiling around his usually bright presence. Vader can feel it even standing in a meeting on the other side of the Executor, just as he feels it every night: Luke struggles to sleep and then wakes terrified, quickly reeling his pain behind shields. But Vader knows Luke doesn’t go back to sleep. The darkness beneath his eyes and his lagging steps during training are proof enough.

And every night like clockwork, as Vader feels the barely contained grief, his feet automatically shift towards Luke’s quarters, something in him straining to find the boy, to drive away anything that might frighten his son. But he restrains himself, clenching his hands, leather creaking beneath his strength, as he erects shields, blocking their mental bond. Every day it seems to take more and more power to turn away from the cries, to tamp down his anger, his grief. For he knows the nightmares, the insomnia, all of it is his fault, and his presence would only make it worse. Luke has made it clear he only agreed to stay on the Executor for training, not for any sense of familial connection.

So every day, Vader steels himself and looks away from the suffering of a son who wants nothing to do with him, who he has hurt in every conceivable way, who is probably right to want the monstrous Darth Vader as far from him as possible.

The meeting drags on, but he pays the officers no attention, standing with his back to them and staring out the viewport into the blue of hyperspace. Well, he knows it’s blue, but the mask distorts the color until all he can see is shades of red. But the stars rushing by are still soothing, and he feels his fingers unclench slightly as he concentrates on the air the respirator forces into his lungs. It burns his ruined throat, and he pulls the Force closer around him.

And then a wave of _pain hurt help please_ crashes into his shields, and Vader throws out a hand to the transparisteel in front of him to stop his knees, which are metal and shouldn’t be shaking, from giving out under the onslaught. His black glove is stark against the flashing light of the stars--the same color as Luke’s eyes- that almost appear to be slipping from between his fingers where they rest on the glass.

He ignores the officers’ frightened stares in the room as he straightens and pivots, cape snapping at his heels, and crosses the room. That the table in the middle of the room has crumpled at the edges doesn’t even register before he’s out the door, a veritable storm of darkness crossing the ship, only one thought in his mind— _my son._

Tendrils of darkened warmth reach for Luke before he can even think to restrain them. But Luke’s shields are in place now. The last, explosive burst of fear seemingly having pulled him from the throes of a nightmare. Vader almost stops, almost turns around, but some instinct, some force is pulling on him. And now that he’s listened to it briefly, he has no power to wrestle it back under control.

So he obeys, thundering steps and the cold leeching from his presence driving everyone out of his way. He’s just going to check to make sure Luke hasn’t seen something that will prompt him to do something dangerous, like trying to flee the Executor. That’s undoubtedly the only reason why his pace has quickened as he feels the cracks in Luke’s shields that are seeping pain and fear, darkening his supernova presence, coiling around his light. Vader almost snarls at the thought of Luke’s light dimming, turning a corner swiftly into a less populated hallway.

But then there’s the door to Luke’s quarters, and he’s storming towards it, opening the door with a flick of his wrist. The entry room takes no time to cross, and then the door to Luke’s bedroom is hissing open. It’s completely dark inside, the only light spilling in from behind him, but Vader’s mask takes no more than a second to adjust. Yet as he takes in the room, he finds himself frozen in the doorway, unsure what he’s supposed to do now that he’s here.

Luke is sitting on the far side of the bed, feet planted on the floor, hunched over his knees with his hands buried in his blond hair. His breathing is loud and uneven in the silence, too similar to Vader’s respirator.

And Vader is struck once again by how much he doesn’t know, how much he’s missed. What had he thought he would accomplish by coming here? Luke doesn’t want anything to do with him.

His hand hovers over the controls to close the door, not daring to reach out through the Force towards his son, afraid of the hatred and fear he’s sure he’ll find there.

But before he can turn away, blue eyes flash in the light spilling in from behind Vader, and he realizes Luke is looking over his shoulder at him. The boy’s eyes are red-rimmed and dark from days without proper sleep, and his cheeks are tear-stained. But still, his eyes seem bluer than they ever have.

And before Vader realizes what he’s doing, he’s already rounding the bed, and the same instinct that had pulled him from the meeting and across the ship is now pulling him closer to his son. Luke’s gaze tracks Vader’s movement until he’s standing in front of him. Half the boy’s face is in shadow as he cranes his neck to look up, the light flitting into the room painting his hair golden. And then Vader is kneeling, ignoring the protesting joints and gears of his prosthetics or the flares of pain as they pull at barely healed skin. Luke’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t speak, the silence only broken by the regulated hissing of Vader’s respirator.

Slowly, as if approaching a wounded and scared animal, Vader reaches up towards Luke’s face, giving him ample time to pull away. But Luke does no such thing, staring almost dazedly into the red-tinted lenses. Vader’s hand lands on Luke’s cheek, and he knows if his fingers were flesh, they would be trembling. If he strains hard enough, he can almost convince himself he can feel the heat and life beneath his metal appendages.

But Luke gives no sign that he’s even noticed the light touch of leather against his skin, so Vader gently swipes his thumb under Luke’s eye, brushing away the tears even as his heart breaks at their presence. And then a sob catches in Luke’s throat before his shields collapse, and his grief-stricken presence crashes into Vader’s. A second later, his body follows as he throws his arms around Vader’s neck, lunging towards his chest with enough force that Vader rocks backward slightly. 

He stays, frozen, shocked, for barely more than a moment before he realizes that Luke, _his son_ , is looking to him for comfort, the boy’s head pressed against the plasteel of Vader’s helmet as his body shakes. And that’s all it takes for him to wrap his arms around his son, pulling him closer to his chest, as close as he can, his own shields cracking under the flooding of warmth in his chest. He channels it into the sweeping darkness that he wraps around Luke’s light, gently and protectively, smoothing over the jagged edges of grief and guilt in Luke’s presence, uncaring as they tear at his own presence. He would bleed forever if it had any hope of helping the boy in his arms.

And he hasn’t had cause to comfort anyone in two decades, but he finds memories flooding back. A dark-haired woman tucked under his chin, a hand resting on blue and white montrals, his own head buried in an older man’s chest. And they hurt so much, but they also remind him what it means to be gentle, to offer safety as he has not had to in two decades. So his hand raises hesitantly, hovering for a moment before he lets it rest gently on the back of Luke’s head. Luke’s arms only tighten around his neck, his face turning even more into Vader’s shoulder. So he dares to, gently and slowly, card his fingers through the boy’s hair.

Luke just slumps even further into Vader’s chest, and he hears another strangled sob escape from his son’s throat. In response, he tightens his grip, both in the Force and around Luke’s still shaking, too-small form. And they stay there, Vader running his hand through Luke’s hair and soothing his son’s pain in the Force as best he can while Luke sobs in his father’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys liked it leave a comment. They make my day! Seriously I love reading them so please leave me one cause they motivate me to write more! if you guys have ideas for other stories send me an ask on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline) or just yell about stuff with me. Info about me and all my other tumblrs are [here](https://infoabtmaddie.carrd.co/#)


End file.
